“I dunno whether she is or not.”
“Does she know it's ready?” Deborah vouchsafed no reply. She poured out the tea.
Caleb grated his chair suddenly. “I'll jest speak to her,” he proclaimed, courageously.
“She knows it's ready. You set still,” said Deborah. And Caleb drew his chair close again, and loaded his knife with toast, bringing it around to his mouth with a dexterous sidewise motion.
“She ain't sick, is she?” he said, presently, with a casual air.
“No, I guess she ain't sick.”
“I s'pose she eat so many cherries she didn't want any supper,” Caleb said, chuckling anxiously. His wife made no reply. Ephraim reached over slyly for the toast-spoon, and she pushed his hand back.
“You can't have any more,” said she.
“Can't I have jest a little more, mother?”
“No, you can't.”